There was a magnificent sunset last night of peach-colored cumulus clouds against the dark blue sky. Then, as night descended so did the rain, lashed about our house by the harmattan wind from the north, supposedly signaling the end of the rainy season. The neighbors’ goats were let out too, another sign that these days of cold and mud are nearly over.
Warmest greetings from Cameroon!!! Yes, I know it is about time. Unfortunately, the internet connection in my training village, Bangangte is prohibitively slow. It takes me 15min just to load gmail. An hour’s time and I manage to read a couple emails and respond to one. Anyway, I guess the connections vary so we’ll see once I move to where I’ll be working. Another issue is that these posts must be very tactful, as it is not enough to have put up the disclaimer you see here. Since this is in the public domain, anyone, including host country nationals (Cameroonians) can read it, and Peace Corps monitors it as well. Understandably, this has taken much of the fun out of it. I’m writing this post because I want to keep in touch with everyone but I don’t know how frequent of an event it will be. Perhaps it will be Facebook or just emails in the future?
I thought Peace Corps training was going to be a bit harsher, like boot camp without the exercise or something. Instead, it feels more like an intensive study abroad program. They do keep us very busy with all sorts of classes (French, technical, health, cross-culture) and the rest of our time is spent with our host families, learning about the culture first-hand. We have very little free time or license to explore as there is a curfew at seven pm (19h), and the days are short.
My typical day begins at 6 am with some cold splashing from my wash bucket and dressing according to how rainy/muddy it is. I also wear tall socks to ward off mosquito bites and quite frankly to keep warm. I have resigned myself to wearing sneakers with skirts. We are at the tail end of the rainy season and there is red mud everywhere. I suppose one gets used to it after awhile; it is definitely the color that defines life here, as it makes its way into everything. Strategies to deal with the mud include mopping the floor often and washing one’s shoes (or those of one’s American guest) obsessively.
The family I have the fortune to be living with are the Tchouta, including widowed mother Louise and her youngest son (the Benjamin) Thierry (27), and the children of two of her daughters, Sandrine (23), Lori (16), and Pedro (14). The teenage children are unbelievably well-behaved: obedient, respectful, subservient, quiet, eager, always pleasant, studious, considerate, and pious. The only generalizations I will make are based on a conglomerate of other homestay experiences. Children here are very hard working and respectful of their elders. The elders get the largest portions with the most meat or other scarce and coveted items. The children serve them without complaint and I can’t help wondering how delightful it must be to finally reach adult status, especially if one is a man. While gaining status, with adulthood a woman’s work increases if anything, as she is often the main provider for the family, but the man still eats the best.
Around 60% of the population is involved in farming, and most is at a subsistence level, meaning it is done with the aim of feeding the family rather than producing for a market. The excess harvest is sold and this generates the income needed for those items like oil and soap that must be purchased. My host mother, Louise, spends the day in her fields, returning in the early afternoon to prepare dinner, which is also breakfast and lunch for the next day. She grows peanuts, corn, plantains, cassava, taro, coco-yams, igname, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes, okra, and various vegetables like “legumes” (not in the French sense; rather any of various greens for cooking). Cooking is done over a bonfire in a large cauldron called a “marmite”. This is in the kitchen, a small mud brick house out back of the main house. It is terribly smoky as there is no chimney and the smoke is used to dry the corn and peanuts that are stored above in the rafters. The family generally eats around the fire and that is the traditional family gathering space. I try to bear the smoke in order to observe and take part in the cooking but it is often too much for me before long.
Many of the dishes involve ground peanuts (pate), hot peppers, and a lot of palm oil that I fortunately love. There is always some sort of starchy root vegetable or plantain and often some concoction involving pieces of bony, dried fish. There have been some unusually slimy dishes, gombo and nkui, that are really the only ones to give me pause. Not only are these dishes so slimy that they must be served by an experienced hand rather than a utensil, they are eaten by hand with the aid of something akin to polenta made either of corn or cassava, and a lot of sucking of the fingers is involved. As a break from this sort of thing, we trainees get together once a week and cook a more familiar dinner.
I will be adding other volunteer blogsites so you have a variety of perspectives if you are interested...
Here's one of Alec, an IT volunteer posted in our training village: dhuse.tumbler.com
That's all for now; thanks for reading. Caitlin, the skirt is great! Thanks everyone for your emails. You can find my phone # on facebook. Text me and I'll text back! Or call with Skype or make a date for me to call you... A bien-tot!
